Holmes Drabbles
by Jennistar1
Summary: Drabbles inspired by random prompts or random insane thoughts...most of them Holmes/Watson...NEW DRABBLE - LOCK-PICKING!
1. Chapter 1

**NB: Drabbles of mine, the titles of which found here:**

**http:// community**** .live journal .com/64damn_prompts/profile (just remove the spaces if you want to look - I found it on Google when I was bored so I don't claim any credit for the titles!!) **

**I also don't own these people, I just play with 'em! **

**Holmes/Watson, mostly implied…**

**1. 2 a.m. **

Watson woke up. It was two in the morning, and he knew this without even having to check the clock on the mantelpiece opposite.

He knew it was two in the morning, because he woke up at the same time every night.

In 221b Baker Street, two in the morning had meant the start of Holmes' insufferable screeching on his violin, which usually ended with Watson coming to his room and throwing heavy things at him until he stopped.

In Cavendish Place, two in the morning meant a dead silence, and a sleeping Mary, and a wakeful Watson, and usually ended with him drifting back to sleep about an hour later.

A violin…sometimes played beautifully (and then Watson would lie there for a little while longer just so that he could listen to it until he went to shout at Holmes) or sometimes played atrociously, or not played at all but merely tweaked at, a discordant variety of notes falling like rain out of the sky…A violin at two in the morning…

It was proof of how insane Holmes had made him, he thought wryly and more than a little desolately, as he stared at the ceiling, that he found himself actually _missing_ his late night interruptions.

He did not fall back to sleep until it was almost dawn.

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**2. Metaphor**

"You." To Holmes the word had always meant, and would always mean, "us". Because for Holmes, "you" _was_ "us". Since Watson had appeared in his life, there _was_ no "you". Just "us".

It had happened so subtly. First it was the most idle of thoughts - visiting an opera would include the thought "I should get some tickets for us", booking a restaurant would involve "a table for us", even "a cab for us". And then it was more definite - "food shopping for us", and, when Gladstone had come along "a dog for us".

And then Watson had taken an active part in his cases, and it was "I must look after us", a thought that had arrived in a cold, blustery form in the middle of the night and, once stuck, had refused to leave.

And then "us" was in everything, every sentence. Everything he did, he did as part of "us".

He had thought Watson thought the same.

Maybe he had, until now.

"_Not us. You."_

He wondered what it was he had done to make Watson change his mind so.

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**3. Sky**

Holmes liked the sky. The sky, once you got past the clouds and the birds and anything else that might be obscuring its view, was blank. It was blue, and blank. Nothing changed, there was nothing else to notice, things didn't keep happening, didn't keep shifting. It was just…there. It was such a refreshing break from the frenzied bustle of the world around him, that sometimes, on bad days, when reality got too much for him to handle, he would lie on the floor by the window and stare at the sky, trying his best to ignore the distractions around him and focus on the blue.

Even then, his mind rushed. Even then, he was thinking a million different things at once. But it was…muted somehow, when he stared at the sky. The world seemed further away. It was all so…blank.

**Please read and review - reviews are the blood to my veins…don't make me shrivel up!!**


	2. Chapter 2

**NB: More drabbles! (dedicated to fragorl, my co-authoress for these two…) I own no one! Except fragorl…;)**

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**The Inappropriateness of Watson**

"That's totally inappropriate, Watson!"

"But…I thought…"

"Why in heaven's name would you THINK that?!"

"But what you said the other day - "

"No no no! That's TOTALLY out of context!"

"But I thought if I just stuck it in there…"

"Un. Ac. Ceptable. Honestly Watson, you think just because its my birthday - !"

"Exactly. I thought we could go for something different…"

"But CREAM? I mean, REALLY?"

"You seemed to like it yesterday…"

"That was SCONES, Watson! A cake is totally different!"

"…Fine. Then I'll bake another one."

"Fine."

"FINE!"

Watson stormed out. Honestly, all this work he had put into the gesture, and Holmes had the damn nerve to argue about a bit of butter cream filling…would serve him right if he threw it in his face!

Holmes, sitting back in the room, hesitated, then, after a moment of careful consideration, extended a finger and swiped a blob of cream hanging out of the cake, examining it for a moment before tasting. Hmm. Not as bad as he thought. He briefly entertained the idea of going after Watson, but decided against it.

After all, it was the _principle _of the thing.

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**Telegram War**

From: Holmes

To: Watson

COME HOME STOP NEED YOU URGENTLY STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

WHY STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

CAN'T FIND HAT STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

YOU HAVE TO BE JOKING STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

HAT VITALLY IMPORTANT STOP NEED IT TO THINK STOP WHERE IS HAT STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

HAVE YOU TRIED CABINET BEHIND STEPLADDER STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

YOU ARE A GENIUS OLD BOY STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

AM BORED STOP COME HOME STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

AM ON HONEYMOON HOLMES STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

IN THAT CASE TELL MARY PROBLEM IS UNAVOIDABLE AND URGENT AND COME HOME STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

DO YOU ACTUALLY REALISE WHAT A HONEYMOON IS HOLMES STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

AN OVERRATED AND ARCHAIC CUSTOM THAT MOST SENSIBLE PEOPLE WOULD HAVE DONE AWAY WITH BY NOW WATSON STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

CANNOT BELIEVE YOU ARE TRYING TO BAIT ME BY TELEGRAM STOP THIS IS A NEW LOW STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

I COULD GO LOWER STOP ALL I NEED IS THE MOTIVATION STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

GO AWAY HOLMES STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

MAKE ME STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

HOLMES STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

ANYWAY HONEYMOON OBVIOUSLY NOT THAT EXCITING SINCE YOU ARE TAKING THE TIME TO ARGUE WITH ME STOP BORED ENOUGH TO COME HOME YET STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

NOT IN THE SLIGHTEST STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

ADMIT IT STOP YOU ARE BORED STOP YOU WANT A CASE STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

NO HOLMES I WANT YOU TO LEAVE ME ALONE STOP YOU ARE DRIVING ME MAD STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

HOW DO YOU THINK I FEEL BEING STUCK HERE WITHOUT YOU STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

GET A NEW CASE STOP FIND SOME NEW FRIENDS STOP SOCIETY NOT THAT FRIGHTENING STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

AM NOT AFRAID OF SOCIETY STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

PROVE IT STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

WE BOTH KNOW SOCIETY WOULD BE AFRAID OF ME STOP WOULD NOT WISH TO BE A BURDEN ON AN ALREADY OVERLADEN SOCIETY STOP YOUR PRESENCE WOULD BE A WORTHY SACRIFICE FOR ENGLAND STOP

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From: Watson

To: Holmes

DON'T TRY THAT STOP

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From: Holmes

To: Watson

FINE STOP HAVE BEEN INVITED TO UPPER ECHELONS BALL TONIGHT STOP WELL ACTUALLY IT WAS YOUR INVITE BUT NO ONE WILL NOTICE STOP DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU STOP

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From: Lestrade

To: Watson

HOLMES IN GAOL STOP PLEASE COME TO BAIL HIM OUT STOP NO ONE ELSE WILL DO IT STOP URGENCY WOULD BE APPRECIATED BECAUSE LADYS FATHER VERY ANGRY STOP IN FUTURE CONSIDER SERIOUSLY THE WISDOM OF GIVING HOLMES YOUR INVITE TO ANY FUNCTION REMOTELY RELATED TO ANY SOCIETY IN THIS COUNTRY STOP BAIL AT TWO HUNDRED POUNDS STOP HE DID A LOT REPEAT A LOT OF DAMAGE TO PROPERTY STOP

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From: Watson

To: Lestrade

GETTING THE 1650 TRAIN STOP IF ONLY TO KILL HOLMES WITH MY OWN BARE HANDS STOP

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**Please read and review!!**


	3. Chapter 3

**NB: Some more drabbles for you to enjoy! I don't own them.**

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**4. lost scene**

Watson was waiting outside the police station when Holmes finally emerged in the early hours of the morning, swinging Watson's own cane cheerfully as he sauntered out, scratched and beaten but triumphant. Although Watson was quite a distance away from him, their eyes met immediately and Holmes grinned, waving his cane at him merrily and earning a few strange looks from passers-by.

They met halfway and Holmes, with a certain amount of ceremony, handed Watson his cane.

"You appear to have misplaced this, doctor."

"I thought I wouldn't see it again when I realised Blackwood had it," Watson said, examining it carefully for marks, and they both automatically fell into step together, on their way back to Baker Street. Holmes made a murmur of acknowledgement, then fell uncharacteristically silent, only speaking again when they were on the end of Baker Street, and then rather quickly.

"I have something for you which you may find…useful."

And he deposited a small velvet box in Watson's hand.

Watson shot him a look; Holmes elaborated with what Watson would have labelled as nervousness if he hadn't known that Holmes was _never_ nervous.

"I mean…the future Mrs Watson anyway."

Watson opened the box. The biggest diamond ring he had ever seen twinkled brightly back up at him.

He felt his mouth drop open.

"Holmes…Where on _earth_ did you find this?"

Holmes shrugged awkwardly. "It fell into my hands."

There was a pause, in which Watson stared down at the ring and Holmes shifted around with his hands in his pockets and watched the people stream past them like a flood of water around two rocks.

"Holmes," Watson said at last. "I can't - "

"Of course you can," Holmes interrupted brusquely. He turned up his collar against the cold. "My my, it is getting rather chilly - I think some tea is in order, don't you?"

He began to walk down the street as quickly as possible, but Watson grasped his arm before he managed to get away entirely.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Don't be dense, Holmes, why the ring? You never supported this marriage, in fact you've done everything in your power to _stop_ me marrying Mary - "

" - no idea why you think that - "

" - _including_ insults, trickery and a bribed fortune teller, Holmes, so why the change of mind now?"

Holmes sniffed and looked away, but Watson didn't let go of his arm.

"I would really like to know," he said more softly.

_The smell of oil, smelled too late, running towards Watson, seeing him turn, watching him shout 'Holmes' and then the explosion…and the sudden thought that perhaps Watson was dead, perhaps he was dead, and he would never see him again, and it was all his fault because he tempted him here, all his fault Watson was dead - _

He shook his head to stop the images flooding in.

"Better married then dead," he said quietly, and prised himself free from Watson's grip, walking down Baker Street alone.

Watson stared silently after him.

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**5. Degrees**

Holmes went through degrees of anger with a case, Watson thought, and then immediately corrected this: no, Holmes always had the same anger. It was the degrees in which he _showed _it that differed.

The mildest anger was usually shown when someone - mostly a new officer to Scotland Yard - insulted Holmes. He would often laugh, sometimes smile, and then, quick as a lash, come out with a retort that would leave the insulter squirming and Watson grinning behind his hand.

Sometimes the anger was harsher, the laugh harsher, and a fire would burn in Holmes's eyes that even the most ignorant offender would notice.

And then there would be a completely fiery anger - the anger that showed when someone was caught who had murdered children, or had done a deed of a particular small-minded, yet devious, viciousness. Then Holmes would shout, often show an element of uncontrolled violence - remarkable in a man who seemed so otherwise controlled - and generally cause the other person hell.

Watson thought Holmes's anger was all fire, but now, he realised, he was wrong.

The barrel of the gun was cold against his forehead, the murderer they had just hunted down grinning dangerously at Holmes over his shoulder.

"Let me pass, or he dies."

Watson opened his mouth to say something like _Holmes don't be a damn fool grab him_, and then Holmes froze, simply froze. Every bone, every muscle in his face froze. He was utterly inanimate, so different from his natural self, which was always alive with a seemingly boundless energy.

And then he spoke, and his voice was so cold Watson was amazed he wasn't turned into an ice statue where he stood.

"Get that gun away from him. Now."

Not a tremor in his voice, not a shake of his hand, not a twitch in his face, and yet Watson knew that Holmes was more furious than he had ever seen him. And Watson had seen him furious. He had seen all the degrees of fury that he thought a man could ever possess, but here Holmes had, in one leap, passed through all of them and out into unknown grounds. Watson was more afraid of him than the gun at his head.

Apparently the murdering gunman was not a complete fool, for he immediately removed the gun from Watson's forehead and dropped it on the floor.

And then Scotland Yard whirled in, and it was all turned into another flurry of excited and agitated people, and Watson's terror lessened only when he looked back at Holmes to find that the icy rage had gone, to be replaced with his usual buoyant, energetic, irritating self, as he boasted dramatically to Lestrade about his latest deductions on the case.

He looked down at the gun on the ground, then back at Holmes, who was gesticulating wildly around the room. The cold look in his eyes had vanished completely, so there was no trace left, and yet Watson still felt a faint shiver pass through him at the memory of that look. He would not like to be on the receiving end of one of those looks…never.

Well, he thought, forcing himself to smile and join into the conversation. It could have been worse. He could have been shot.

He wondered exactly why that fact had bothered Holmes so much.

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**6. seize the day**

"Carpe Diem," said Holmes.

Watson wiped the sweat from his forehead, keeping his gun level in the other hand.

"What?" he said.

"Carpe Diem," repeated Holmes. "Seize the day. Surely you know that one, doctor."

"Yes, of course I do," snapped Watson, taking a careful step back, "But what exactly has _that_ got to do with our present situation?"

The seven burly men who had them backed into a corner grinned toothily at their victims, unafraid of Watson's gun, as if they knew - just as he did - that he was totally out of bullets. They began to move forward slowly and threateningly.

Holmes looked at Watson, and Watson looked back, observing the flash of Holmes's annoyingly addictive smile through the grime on his face.

"Carpe Diem, Watson," he said brightly.

Watson glanced at the men, then back at Holmes, who winked at him, moving unobtrusively into a fighting stance.

"Carpe Diem," Watson sighed.

They attacked together.

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**Please R and R!**


	4. Chapter 4

NB: Just a little drabble that amused me when I thought it up ^^,. Anyone who has watched the movie will no doubt get this! Enjoy!

The characters don't belong to me!

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_**Doilies!**_

Holmes was in the middle of an extremely delicate chemical investigation when the door burst open, so didn't flinch, even when heavy objects were thrown around close to his head (missing on purpose of course), along with a long stream of very ungentlemanly curses.

It was only when Watson said, "For Gods _sake_, Holmes," that he turned around, wiping his chemically stained fingers on a rag tucked into his belt, and flashed his former roommate a bright, brittle smile.

"Good evening, old b-"

"_You_," Watson said, pointing a finger at Holmes venomously, "Are a complete bastard."

And with that friendly greeting, he sat himself down in his old chair and poured himself a very large glass of brandy, which he then downed in one angry gulp.

Holmes leaned against the desk, scribbling a quick note in his book.

"I fail to see what I have done to deserve that sort of reaction." He paused in his writing, and then added, "_this_ time."

Watson poured himself another glass of brandy. He looked like he was trying very hard not to think about something that was determined to pray on his mind despite his best efforts. He was becoming rather adorably red-cheeked, Holmes noted, with an inward grin.

"Mary went shopping today," he said finally, and took a sip of his brandy.

Holmes raised his eyebrows.

"Even if she spent an inordinate amount of your hard-won money on dress material and such-not, as women do, I am afraid that I still do not see how this directly relates to _me_ - "

"Do you know what she bought?" Watson interrupted furiously.

Holmes waved his hands about helplessly - women were nowhere near his department.

"Eh…?"

"_Doilies_," Watson snarled. "_Lace. Doilies._"

Holmes couldn't have stopped himself for all the most dastardly criminal cases in the world; he let out a loud bark of laughter.

"It's _not_ funny!" Watson shouted.

Holmes clapped his hand over his mouth with apparent effort.

"Of course not," he said, his voice grave, if muffled, behind his hand. "Awfully sorry, old boy."

"I reacted dreadfully," Watson said. "And it's all your fault."

Holmes dropped his hand from his mouth.

"Oh, now, come _on_, Watson - "

"If you hadn't _said_ that - "

"I…it was only a joke!"

"Holmes, I let out such a shout, she thought I'd been shot!"

Holmes's bottom lip twitched; he tried desperately to contain himself.

"Indeed," he said instead, stiltedly.

"And then," Watson said, apparently needing to get all the horror out now that he had started. "And _then_…Holmes, I asked her if she was growing a beard!"

That was too much - Holmes burst out into hysterics, violent enough to shake the desk he was leaning on. And now once he had started, he couldn't stop - the thought of dear Miss Morstan's face (_not_ Mrs Watson, _never_ Mrs Watson) as Watson had blurted out the question was enough to set him into a fresh wave of hilarity every time he tried to control it.

"_Stop _it," Watson was saying, but Holmes was not too far gone to hear the giggles bubbling under the syllables of his words. "Holmes, stop i-" And then he was laughing too, and his laughter, his happiness, set off Holmes again, until they were both sitting on the floor, roaring and roaring with laughter until their chests hurt, and even then, when the final rage had passed, they lay together for a long time, staring at the ceiling and occasionally hiccupping with occasional giggles.

"Of course," Holmes finally said, for all the world as if he hadn't spent the last half an hour in hysterics on the floor, "I assume the lovely Miss Morstan said no."

Watson did not pick up on the use of his wife's maiden name.

"I don't know," he snapped, but not as viciously as he had before. "I ran out of the house before she could say anything."

Holmes let out a snort of amusement. "I'm sure you have nothing to fear, dear boy." And then he paused, and added, with all the mischievousness of his nature, "Although of course, I have a spare razor if she so desired-" but Watson was already laughing and punching at his arm, and the rest of their time was spent tickling each other mercilessly on the floor, until Mrs Hudson, roused by their shouts and yells, stormed up the stairs to remind them that they were "grown men, not five year old boys", hit them with a cane until they stopped, and then went downstairs to make them some tea.

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Read and Review if ye enjoyed!


	5. Chapter 5

**Drunk Holmes and Watson! I don't know why I haven't written this already...not sure how good this is, I may have another attempt sometime in the future to actually make a _plot_ out of this - I figure, the more Holmes and Watson, the better right?**

**Do review, and remember, I own nothing except some very very strong alcohol that I am going to drink after my exams...**

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In retrospect, Holmes was not entirely sure how he had managed to become quite this drunk. It must have happened somewhere between Watson coming home in a filthy mood, cursing 'hysterical crazy old women with nothing to do but waste the time of a poor overworked doctor' and insisting that Holmes take him 'to some filthy, cheap hole with liquor that is as plentiful as it is strong or fear my wrath', and the pub they were now inhabiting. It might have been the drink with the cherry in it, he pondered as he tried fervently to work out which of the three pints in front of him was the real one. Or the drink that smelled and tasted like a mint bush. Or that strange orange shot with the worm…

The last one had been all Watson's fault. Holmes was not generally in the habit of drinking drinks with deceased invertebrates inside them, but Watson had spouted something about them increasing the flavour, so he had tried it just to prove him wrong. It had tasted quite nice actually, although perhaps throwing the worm at the bartender afterwards had been the wrong thing to do, since they had then found themselves rather unceremoniously thrown out by the bar's rather large resident thug. Watson had evidently found it funny though, because he had laughed. Mind you, he had been doing a lot of that in the last hour - or - or five…

He was laughing now. Drinking and laughing, and telling some sort of joke where the punch line didn't make any sense because Holmes had missed the first part, but everyone else around them was laughing, not that he knew these people, they had somehow picked them up as they had moved from pub to pub, probably because of the noise they had made, especially when he had tripped over that dustbin, whose idea was it to place it in the middle of the road anyway, now which beer was his, was this his beer, it was far too empty to be so, surely - oh wait, someone was talking to him -

"…lmes, Holmes, _Holmes_ - " Watson was tugging at his arm and gesturing at his new crowd of admirers. "This -" he told them sternly. "ThisisHolmes - he's a _defective _- "

Holmes frowned.

"Wa'son, I think - you mean - "

"He's a defective," Watson interrupted brightly, ignoring him. "He defects things. Like…" His brow creased in sudden puzzlement. "Holmes, what're those things you defect?"

Holmes thought about it.

"…Experiments?"

"Nonono," Watson shook his head until he went cross-eyed, then steadied himself on Holmes's arm and took another large swig of beer. "Pretty sure that's not it. Something wiva c."

Holmes swirled his beer around. Bits swirled with it.

"Cats," he decided.

"Cats," Watson told the crowd.

For some reason they burst out laughing. Holmes couldn't work out why. He finished his drink.

"Wa'son," he announced. "Next pub."

Watson frowned. "But my beer keeps moving."

"Don't make me throw a worm," Holmes threatened.

They left.

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The next pub was bigger and noisier, and Watson and Holmes were mostly ignored as they drank their way steadily through the pub's different kind of ales.

"And _then_," Holmes was saying. "He said - he said - and you'll never believe this - he said _I _was _irritating_."

Watson was staring at the ceiling with his mouth open. "Really."

"Yesssssssssssss." Holmes took the last letter and ran with it. "Irritating. And he - and he - and after I had done the thing - found his - thing, you know - sparkly, with bits of - of - stuff…"

"Wife?"

"No, no. Stuff. Shiny. Diamond, that's it. Shiny diamond thingy."

"Coronet," Watson told his ale.

"Don' be stupid, thatsa a bird," Holmes retorted. He inspected his drink. "Wa'son," he said. "I think I'm inibbi - inerbi - iniffi - _drunk_."

"Don' be silly, old boy," Watson replied calmly, downing his fourteenth pint. "You've only had a few."

"And a worm."

"And a worm."

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Baker Street was apparently, this evening, in the habit of swaying. It made it very difficult for Holmes to walk straight, but he decided he was doing quite well. Better than Watson, anyway, who kept walking into bushes and then apologising to them.

He let Watson carry on a lengthy conversation with a oak tree for a while, then took pity on him and took him in hand, curling his arm through Watson's.

"Think yer drunk dearboy," he scolded, wondering vaguely why his feet refused to listen to the rest of him. "Is very - very - _ungentlemanly._"

Watson let out a very ungentlemanly snort in answer, leaning on Holmes's shoulder. He was always far more affectionate when his insides were swimming with alcohol, Holmes thought hazily, refusing to admit that he was exactly the same. Alcohol, he mused, was a ridiculous waste of both money and ti -

"Love you, Holmes," said Watson.

Oh well. Maybe it was good for _some _things.

***glee* If this amused you, please do tell me! Thank you!**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Inspired by the fact that movie!Holmes seems to have serious issues with picking locks. Like dude, he fails with the ginger midget's door, with Irene's door and with her handcuffs in the slaughter-house! So I thought I would write a drabble…enjoy! ;p**

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"What are you doing?" Watson cranes his neck over Holmes's shoulder, looking down at the desk where Holmes has been sitting for hours now, fiddling with bits of metal and grumbling under his breath. It was his latest loud and rather effusive curse that brought Watson to his shoulder, but now he is here, Watson is quite intrigued. There are locks scattered all over the table, all different types, and all locked. Bits of metals are interspersed with these locks, bent in strange shapes. Holmes has two of the pieces of metal and one of the locks in his hands, and is cursing as he attempts to fit the former into the latter.

"What does it look like?" he snarls at Watson, who ignores his grumpiness and taps at the lock.

"It looks like you are failing to teach yourself lock picking," he says gently.

"I am not _failing._" Holmes jabs the lock with his metal piece in vengeance. "I have merely hit a dead-end in my endeavours, that is all. I never fail anything."

Watson grins. "Of course not," he says. He puts his chin on Holmes's shoulder, and, smiling wickedly, whispers into his ear: "It still looks like failing to me…"

Holmes hurls the metal pick onto the table. "It's impossible, Watson! No one can do it!"

Watson takes the lock out of Holmes's hand and a pick from a table and proceeds to fiddle with it. Holmes continues to babble, ignoring him. "…perhaps I have the wrong locks, or the wrong picks, I have tried so many though, but surely it can't be _that _diffi - "

With a loud _click_ the lock in Watson's hand springs open.

Holmes turns to stare at Watson.

Watson frowns at the opened lock, then smiles at Holmes and waves the pick in the air. "Well…that was easy," he says.

Holmes's mouth drops open.

Watson smiles, pats his shoulder and leaves, grinning to himself.

After all…it was about time he bested the great Sherlock Holmes at _something._

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**:p I hope you enjoyed! Please to review!**


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